


Where Time Has Its Place

by Paradise_Shores



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: But It's Still a Really Good Theory!, Dreams, Explicit Language, Fan theories, Headcanon, Immortality, Link Has the Triforce of Courage, Memories, Memory Loss, Non-Canon Additions, Other, Past Link/Malon, References to Previous Games, Reincarnation, Return by Death, Sassy Link (Legend of Zelda), Specifically the One by Mother's Basement, Spoilers for Previous Games, Unspecified Timeline Placement, Yes. I Know It Was an April Fools Joke, Zelda Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_Shores/pseuds/Paradise_Shores
Summary: When Link wakes up, he expects to start the cycle over again from ground zero, and for the most part that’s true. There’s a princess in distress, the kingdom needs saving and “yours truly” is the only one that can possibly clean up this mess.Where things diverge, however, is that he’s privy to the knowledge that this isn’t his first rodeo. In fact, he remembers almost everything about his previous lives. It’s this current one that’s giving him a bit of memory trouble. Usually life begins at, you know, the beginning. Which makes waking up as a seventeen-year-old with no recollection of events that lead up to said awakening a bit jarring. Remembering his past incarnations is also weird, considering it’s never happened before.Luckily, there’s a familiar old man there to tell him he’s been sleeping for the past 100 years. So, he was in a magically induced coma? That certainly explains his long remembering spell. Oh well, not like any of this matters, it’s just another chapter in his unbelievably long existence. Might as well get it over with quickly, after all, he knows exactly where his enemy’s waiting.





	1. Prologue: Dreaming

     When he started to dream, it was of so many strange places. The hollowed-out insides of a massive tree. The shifting, creaking hull of a pirate ship. The iced remains of a long-forgotten mansion. He saw mushrooms that loomed as large as oak trees and a speckled egg that nearly dwarfed the mountain it sat atop. Locations so entirely fantastical that surely, they could only exist in his imagination.  
  
     He was always in motion in these dreams. Riding a horse, trimming a sail, stoking a train engine. He felt suffocating heat and paralyzing frost. He heard symphonies of dancing leaves and the thunder of a mountain raging to life. He smelled effervescent rains and humid murky swamps. And oh, how he loved the crisp, enveloping smell of fresh cut grass  
  
     He began dreaming of items next. Normal things, like bows and armor, nuts and bottles. Some invaluable things, like the projectile chain weapon he knew was called a clawshot and a rod that volleyed fire. Several things were just outright bizarre, like the magic cane that turned things upside down and the giant, spinning top that doubled as a gear.

  
     He was still on the move, but now he was waylaid by monsters. A few had weapons, others attacked with teeth and claws. Ambushes and rushes. Endless hoards that came at him from all sides. Keese, wolfos, bokoblins, chchus, redeads. All of them ravenous for his blood. Each encounter required precise timing and careful planning. Adrenalin saturated his veins, granting him power and stamina but driving him insane. Howls and shrieks invaded his consciousness, spiraling him further into the nightmare that just. Wouldn't. END.  
  
     Massive red eyes glared through him on all sides. There were scores of them. Dozens. Hundreds. How could he ever know how many there were when they were all shifting, melting and combining into further atrocities. All of them menacingly parading around him. No, they were circling. Stalking. Eyes hungry and maws gaping as they drew ever closer to their prey.  
  
     And he knew that there'd be nothing left.

     A single glowing eye lumbered out of the orbiting mass on stiff, stilted legs. The gleam shining off two venom covered fangs that framed its face of one unblinking feature. Its chitinous body tapered down to a looming scorpion stinger.

     As the creature encroached closer to his frozen position, his only thought was 'how could I possibly kill this thing?'

     "Ghoma," a tiny feminine voice twinkled in his ear. He turned about to face a delicate, blue fairy hovering by his side. "It's one of the parasitic monsters inside the Deku Tree! Its eye is vulnerable when it's red!" she twittered.

     A slingshot was in his hand.

     "Look!" The fairy shouted. Fearlessly, she zipped over to the monster and started circling the eye. Showing him exactly where he needed to watch, and precisely where he needed to aim.

     It didn't take long. The monster stooped in a crouch preparing to make a lunge, the murder in its eye staining the whole thing red. Fast as the crack of a whip, he loosed a projectile from the slingshot and it soared dead center.

     The fiend screeched as it was rendered immobile, an easy target for the slashes of his sword. He came at it mercilessly, driving his sword at the weak point again and again with clumsy form and frantic movements. Soon enough the monster recovered and skittered a safe distance from his blade. Now it was enraged and refused to retreat. It tried attacking is several different ways, but he was light on his feet and ready to dodge or counteract every attack thrown at him. Eventually the yellow eye once again shifted to red, giving him the opening he’d been waiting for.

     It became a dance. Immobilize the creature with a strike to the weak point, then try to finish it off with the sword. Until, finally, it crumpled and turned to dust at his feet. He was breathing heavily, sword held still ready, when he lifted his gaze back to the swirling mass of eyes that had watched the whole thing.

     Another stepped forward and began the dance anew.

     Battle after battle he fought, for what felt like an eternity. Time and time again he downed an enemy, only for it to be replaced by another, superior foe. Each creature presented a new challenge, usually in the form of a new tricky way to open it up for defeat. Unlike the first time, he never froze. He faced each new challenger with iron in his grip and smoke behind his eyes. If he ever got stuck, Navi- he knew her name was Navi like he knew the chain weapon was called a clawshot- would offer him a hint.

     It wasn't always Navi though. Other voices joined him. There were more fairies, a shadowy imp, a... boat? His.... sword??

     Tatl, Ciela, Midna, The King of Red Lions, Fi!

     His heart sang their names like a greeting to old friends. He wondered why he felt he'd be utterly lost without them.

     Soon enough his companions outnumbered the haunting eyes. Or maybe they just didn't matter as much anymore. Perhaps they simply faded away in the background. Now he was surrounded by friendly faces. Many more than had helped him in battle.

     There was a plucky, young witch called Maple. A rupee-pinching sea captain named Linebeck. Kina, the waitress at the Lumpy Pumpkin who captivated everyone with her songs. Gonzo, who looked big and tough, but fell to pieces when left to stew about his missing captain. Agitha, who fancied herself a princess and would pay exuberant amounts for rare, sparkly bugs.

     Malon...

     Looking into those blue eyes and seeing that red hair he finally realized, he wasn't dreaming at all. These were memories.

     Malon, with the fresh-baked smile and the mid-afternoon singing voice. Malon, who's wit was like a family heirloom, only brought out on special occasions, but undeniably there the whole time. Malon, who was fiercely kind and unwaveringly genuine.

     Even as a half-remembered inkling she still took his breath away.

     He’d fallen for her fast and hard. When he’d finally wandered his way back to Hyrule proper, after searching aimlessly for what had to be years. After being displaced in time itself and then tumbling headfirst into yet another disaster that needed reversing. After everything that had happened to him, she’d welcomed him with open arms, and he’d created a life around her.

     Home. She was home.

     He could have lived that simple life forever. He wished it would have lasted. That he could have gone on raising horses and mending fences. He would have given anything to hold Malon each night and tell her how every waking moment, she was always on his mind. If only his sword could have remained rusted and forgotten in that dusty, old attic trunk.

     But life is never kind, especially not for him.

     The destiny he had once thought evaded came thundering across the lands of Hyrule once again. War had broken out, decimating his idyllic ranch home first. His family had barely managed to escape with their lives and nothing else. He instructed Malon to flee with their son and then took up arms against the encroaching threat.

     The conflict lasted years and by the end of it he was leading the kingdom’s troops into battle. His experience and the princess’s favor had sent him soaring through the army’s ranks. The enemy was identical as from a time completely separate, but the circumstances were different. All the same he prevailed, but the victory had come at a high cost, to the kingdom and himself.

     He never saw his family again. Never got the chance to hold his wife once more or teach his son all the things a father should. He had ensured a future for them, and that was enough, but his spirit never let go of those regrets.

     He remembered those regrets manifesting themselves. He’d been a different person in an almost identical setting, playing out an extremely similar script. It was odd seeing the whole picture now and remembering the encounters with full context.

     When he’d met the hero’s shade, he’d thought of him as a ghost. He would approach with a certain level of awe mixed with reverence. He might even go so far as to say he considered the otherworldly entity a mentor. The Idea that he was learning from an echo of his former self had never even occurred to him.

     It wasn’t even the only time something like that had happened. Time and again he’d lived through a sprawling adventure and then end up hearing about his own deeds in a later life. More often than not the details were embellished and romanticized by the generations in between. Learning about his great uncle, the Hero of Winds, was a prime example.

     Whenever he thought about “The Hero” he never envisioned himself in that role. He would marvel at the awe-inspiring tales and find the courage to go on. Each hero was an imposing figure of legend, able to command respect and authority. He was only ever himself. He never remembered his past accomplishments, and when his journey was done, he never referred to himself as a hero.

     He wondered why these memories were coming to him now. Perhaps this is what happened when he left the mortal plane. He simply remembered until he was needed again. Set adrift in reminiscence until destiny once again called upon him. He didn’t recall it happening before, but what bearing did that have on anything? What’s to stop him from forgetting his afterlives just like he forgot his living ones?

     He fell into a long spell of reliving every moment of his countless incarnations. Before, his dreaming had felt like it lasted an eternity, but that was only a drop in the bucket of how long he spent remembering.

     Every journey he’d ever taken part in was vividly recreated in his mind’s eye. Time and time again he traversed the familiar landscape of Hyrule, scavenging items and unearthing treasures. He’d made friends with any number of different races. He’d battled giants. Consulted dragons. Spent way more time than he’d like to admit destroying public property.

     He watched Hyrule, from the very start of its humble beginnings, expand and evolve into the sprawling empire it became. Through the brief snapshots of his recurring lifespans and half remembered school lessons, he was able to piece together a working through-line of the kingdom’s entire history. He witnessed it crumble then reignite. He saw as it was divided, drowned, and conquered but still it persisted.

     The land itself changed and warped. That alone was probably the surest indicator of time passing. Not too much, but enough to notice. That is, when it didn’t end up completely unrecognizable. Like when it was torn to pieces and set adrift in the sky, submerged under a lifeless ocean, or blanketed in inky, tangible twilight.

     No, it was the smaller changes that seemed ever more important. Like the encroaching southern forest that creped its way northward and the flowing rivers that gouged out deep ravines. The earth itself was a living thing, subject to time in a way that he was not.

     He and time had a complicated relationship. They shared equal footing, him holding as much sway over it as it did over him.

     Once, he was even christened the Hero of Time due to his ability to alter its flow with nothing but a mystical ocarina.

     His dominion over time didn’t stop there, with each new life he discovered new ways to manipulate it. A rod that could turn the seasons. A harp that could flip through the ages. A portal that transported him to ancient times spoken of in legend.

     But that was all trappings. Trinkets and baubles that gave him superficial, time related gimmicks. Undeniably useful, but only skin deep.

     Much like how time could only be observed effecting the land in its small measures spanning centuries, its ineffect on him could only be seen when compiling his very long existence. Sure, he grew old and died just like anyone else. But death was never permanent for him.

     His chronic reincarnation being the most obvious example. Though it was true that there were other recurring faces that proved he wasn’t the only one caught in this revival loop, he was the only one that seemed so persistent. So stagnant.

     He was always there, fulfilling that same role as the hero. When Hyrule was in peril, he was ever-present, even when history forgot about him. No matter how his life started, as a farmer or a smith or an engineer, he inevitably ended up with a sword in his hand, singlehandedly battling the encroaching threat.

     Yes, it was the most obvious example, but in his opinion, not the most important. His most impressive time related ability was something that followed him into every incarnation. Though he treasured the ones that he’d never discovered it. Because, frankly, he really hated dying. And boy oh boy did he do a lot of that.

     One might expect an equal amount of deaths to the number of lives. You were born, lived a little and then died. That’s just how things were. Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t the case.

     How many times had he drowned in the water temple? How many cliffs had he taken a nosedive off? How many times had he been impaled, incinerated, or frostbitten? More than he could possibly count.

     Because, death was never permanent for him.

     He was able to ‘reset the clock’ so to speak and try all over again. He could die however many times needed to make it to journeys end.

     And that’s what he hated remembering most. Because even knowing he’d wake up afterwards, dying was still an extremely painful way to problem solve.

     He recalled a time he’d casually strolled into a room only to have his head cleanly removed by a giant spinning statue depicting a reaper wielding a scythe. He’d wandered into lake of poisoned fog and passed out in a pool of his own blood and vomit before he could drag himself back out again. He’d had his very life essence ripped out of him in the bowels of a cursed ocean god’s temple.

     He wished the memories would stop coming. He didn’t enjoy thinking about the times he was constricted to death by animate plant life or when he’d misjudged a jump and plunged straight into quicksand. He definitely didn’t need reminders of the stupidest ways he’d been ushered into the afterlife only to pick himself back up and do the exact same idiotic thing all over again.

     He tried to focus on the good memories. The triumph of winning a shooting gallery game with a perfect score. The absolute thrill of being able to breath underwater. His grandmother’s soup. The simple joy of afternoon fishing. The absolute happiness of saving a friend from danger.

     He went on like that. Shuffling through memories on repeat, categorizing events and sorting through his past lives until he thought he had them all straightened. Until finally, _finally_ , he felt something shift, and ever so slowly, he began to gradually drift into consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Thank you so much for reading! This is actually my first fic so please give me all the criticisms you've got. 
> 
> You'll notice there's references to all 3 timelines. That was very much intentional. There may have been a greater emphasis on the child timeline, but honestly that's just because it's my favorite (and also the one I'm most familiar with, lore-wise.) I want to make it clear that the reincarnation cycle is something that transcends time and space. Whatever the timeline, they're all the same Link. Which is why he's able to remember all of his lives, not just the one's that have a chronological link. *Pun totally intended* 
> 
> It also means you're free to set this fic in whatever timeline you prefer, though I'm leaning towards a Fallen Hero timeline placement myself. That may or may not come up later. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you had fun! Actual BotW plot coming in the next chapter.


	2. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consciousness brings about confusion, and Link knows too much and not enough to make sense of the situation.

     Muffled. The whole world was muffled, like being smothered on all sides. Everything was difficult. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. Even thinking seemed beyond the realm of possibility. He felt disconnected from himself, floating heavily on the cusp of reality.

     Then, a single ray of sunshine cut through the void. He knew he wasn’t actually seeing it per se, not with his eyes anyway. It felt like a shard of pure gold stabbing through his brain. The sensation was excruciatingly _invasive_ , but it brought everything into focus. He felt life flow into his veins again, recognized the thrum of his heartbeat picking up and the pulse of reacting muscles.

     He moved closer to the light, even though it made him uncomfortable, and let the soft ringing envelop his mind. He began to hear a voice, though that too was muffled. He strained his focus, trying to pick out the individual words.

     “…Open your eyes.” It was more plead than command.

     He breathed in, the action feeling more deliberate than it should. More foreign.

     “Open your eyes.”

     The light grew stronger, blooming outwards until it was an all-encompassing, brilliant white. He blinked away the brightness only to realize afterward he had indeed opened his eyes. Blue was the first thing he saw. A calming blue light that was notably less harsh than the overpowering gold still there in his head.

     “Open your eyes,” the voice repeated once more. A few more blinks and he was able to focus on the source of the light. It looked like some kind of Sheikah technology hovering above him, though none that he’d ever seen before.

     “Wake up, Link.” Yes. That was right. All the others were named Link, so obviously that was his name too. But something seemed off. There was a persistent wrongness about the situation that he couldn’t shake.

     He was vaguely aware of the feeling of liquid running off his body as his breath came more naturally. After a brief pause to collect himself he was finally able to sit up. He glanced around, peering through the mist to familiarize himself with his surroundings.

     He was in a room that would have seemed small except that there was nothing but empty space. He looked closer at the walls. They were obviously made of Dinminite stone, but they seemed older somehow. Faded from the black obsidian he was used to into a deep earthy brown.

     The room reminded him of a crisis bunker, though that didn’t quite fit. There were two key differences. First off, it looked like this one wasn’t set up to be reconfigured. Which would be extremely limiting, unless this miniscule room was all there was to the bunker. And second, the mechanical bed centerpiece he was currently resting in was far from standard issue.

     He clambered out to get a better look at the thing.

     He ended up staring slack jawed and the sheer marvel of tech on display. Hanging from the ceiling was an intricate mass of intertwining magic conduits. The stone they fed into bloomed outward instead of narrowing into point for a guidance stone, which is what one might expect from an overhead piece of equipment like this.

     The brightness of the conduits pulsed, indicating the machine was low on refined magic reserves. It also implied that it had been in use not too long ago.

     Link wondered what this thing was used for and, more importantly, why he’d been sleeping in it.

     He looked to the bed underneath where it seemed the magic concentrate was designed to drip down into. A closer examination revealed it was more of a tank than a bed and there were countless modifiers embedded into it. Sensors, regulators, dampeners, you name it. All stacked up on top of each other creating a web of interconnected machinery.

     His breath hitched as he noticed the four posts at the corners. He could have sworn his heart stopped. They were built with a gaping hole in the middle of them, designed to charge the air particles passing through with magic, thus enabling the very atmosphere to be strictly controlled. He glanced around with invigorated interest at the mist hanging in the air. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel the odd, refined magic pulsing through it.

     This technology was supposed to be purely theoretical.

     The tips of his fingers tingled. He wanted to take it apart. He needed to see how this machine worked, wanted to _understand_ it. Track it down to its center and then put it all back together again. He had to know what it was for.

     A sinking feeling came into his stomach, overpowering his eager giddiness. This wasn’t something you’d find on your average sleeping or diagnostic apparatus. He took a few steps back instinctively.

     Why had he been sleeping here? That feeling of _wrongness_ came trickling back.

     Before he could spiral himself into a useless overthinking fit, he got distracted by the noise of a pedestal humming to life behind him. He whirled to see it standing next to the locked door. Well, there’s nothing like unbridled curiosity to stuff up the panic of an unknowable situation. He approached the pedestal to investigate, albeit with deliberate caution.

     As soon as he got close enough it responded by disengaging the Sheikah Slate that had been secured in its face with a twirl and displaying it for him.

     The shard of gold invaded his mind again. “That is a Sheikah Slate. Take it. It will help guide you after your long slumber,” the voice from before said.

     The part about ‘long slumber’ gave him pause, but hey, he was never one to turn down free stuff. Especially anything as useful as a Sheikah Slate. He grabbed it off the pedestal and flipped through the different screens to see what was on it.

     Hmmm. No runes, no communication line, not even a photo album. It seemed the only thing on this slate was a map and even that was empty. Save for one icon almost directly on top of where he stood. And honestly, that was probably only thanks to the nearby landmark sensor. He hovered over it to see the name, hoping that would give him some idea of where he was.

     ‘Shrine of Resurrection’

     “Those damn idiot Sheikah engineers!” he cursed in indignation. “I told them not to build this place, I don’t fucking need it!”

     It took all his self-control not to hurl the slate in his hand at the wall. Not that he thought it would damage it, the Dinminite stone it was made of could withstand far more damage than he was capable of dishing out. But still, poor baby deserved to be treated better than that. He stuffed it into the holster on his hip instead.

     He paced around, trying the shake the frustration that was balling his hands into fists.

     “They must have put me in here after I took that blast to the face in the final battle,” he said to himself. Then it occurred to him and he froze. No, that wasn’t right. He remembered waking up after that, when time had reset after his death like normal. In fact, he remembered achieving victory in that battle, as well as the rest of his long life afterward.

     His gaze drifted down, and he finally took full stock of his body. It wasn’t the fully-grown form of an engineer in his thirties he’d been expecting. It seemed his mind, associating these surroundings -covered on all sides by technology as they were- with that life, had just slotted his perception into that timeframe. Even if it didn’t fit.

     Right. When he thought about it, he could even remember several lifetimes after that one.

     The body he currently had was that of a boy in mid-adolescence. Probably sixteen, no older than seventeen. It was small and lithe, but he could feel the strength underneath. This body was built for endurance.

     He tried to think back on how he’d gotten it. Nothing. Tried to recall a time before he’d been asleep, to dredge up a memory of a friend or a place or an event that was unique to this lifetime. A complete blank.

     The realization was a bit of a blow. He was used to being displaced in time, but never quite like this. The complete whiplash of being torn out of his comfort zone, of not knowing when or where or _why_ , was disorienting.

     Before, there had always been _something_ to anchor him to his living time. A family or an occupation. Just _anything_. But now there was absolutely nothing. His mind raced, thinking of all the possibilities.

     The sudden drop in his stomach was so chilling, he felt the tingling dread seep into his fingers and toes.

     He looked back to the tank. The Shrine of Resurrection. Could that be it? The name seemed to imply being brought back from the dead. A corpse put back to rights and reinvigorated. But maybe the people of this time had gotten sick of waiting for the hero to appear. Perhaps they simply opted to make one of their own from scratch.

     He shuffled backward quickly. Trying to escape the horrifying implications of his thoughts more than the shrine itself. His back bumped against the forgotten pedestal behind him and he leaned on it for support.

     He conducted another, more frantic, survey of his body. This time looking for chinks in the composition, for unnatural uniformity, or any sign at all that he might be artificial.

     It took longer than it should have, due to his frenzied state, but soon enough he could see. Just below his ribcage on the right side, the scar of a puncture wound. Flat, like a blade or spear stabbing at an angle. And there, just above the crook of his left elbow. A birthmark. And his left leg, stretching from below the knee almost to the ankle, the traces of what had to be a third degree burn.

     And probably most telling. The calluses on his hands. Not those of a farmer or a carpenter, but those of a warrior. He’d lived enough lives to tell the difference. So it was undeniable. This body had been lived in, he’d just forgotten about it.

     He took a drawn-out breath of relief and chided himself for getting so worked up. He wasn’t sure why being artificial would have been such a tragedy. Considering all the bodies he’d been born into before, it shouldn’t have been such a big deal. But it was. He didn’t want to analyze the reasons.

     He shook himself out of his thoughts. So what if he’d lost a few memories? He had memories to spare. It couldn’t matter less if he didn’t know who he was. If this life was like any of the others, then he knew what he had to become, and he was certain of his purpose here. He needed to stop wasting time.

     He trotted through the door that’d opened when he first took the Sheikah Slate, and immediately came face to face with two treasure chests. Now that was a sight for sore eyes if ever he saw one. Some things never changed. Finding a treasure chest would _always_ put a smile on his face.

     Opening the first one revealed a pair of shrunken trousers and the second a threadbare shirt. That was a relief, as entertaining as it would be to do the hero thing in nothing but his underwear would be, dying of exposure wasn’t exactly on his to-do list. Though there was a small part of him that mourned his missing green tunic. Call him old fashioned, but he thought it had a certain flair.

     Moving on, he found himself at another locked door with a pedestal. The shard of gold was back, but this time he tried to concentrate more on its origins than the words it was saying. He reached for it with his thoughts, grasping at it, and felt it was entirely too familiar. He thought hard to place it.

     It was midnight. Outside, the rain came down in an endless torrent. Lightning flashes followed by crashing thunder. It had been hours since his uncle left. He’d promised to be back by morning, but it wasn’t safe outside. Link was worried. He tried to fall asleep, but sharp gold was invading his dreams. A voice telling him to come to the castle. Stop the ritual. Free the princess. Please, please, _please_... Help.

     Link tore himself from the memory of the moment that had ignited his destiny many lifetimes ago. He focused back on the voice speaking to him in the present.

     Of course. It was the same shining sliver of gold. He’d had his suspicions about the voice, the memory only confirmed it. If he was here, then it was only natural that Zelda was here as well. And obviously, she’d be invested in his awakening.

     He scanned his slate on the pedestal like she’d suggested in the speech he’d only half listened to. He wished she’d just get to the point and ask him to put his neck on the line already. Obviously, that’s what she was leading up to. He wasn’t sure why she was dragging this out so much, it wasn’t like he had anything to leave behind. Not that he knew about anyway.

     As if to grant his wish, her next words did exactly that as he squinted into the sunlight streaming through the opening door.

     “Link… You are the light -our light- that must shine upon Hyrule once again. Now, go…” That last part was a bit more terse, like a slightly aggressive afterthought. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and wondered if this mind communication thing worked both ways.

     Whelp. Princesses’ orders. Better get this show on the road. First item on the docket was finding out what he actually needed to do.

     He made for the exit, only slowed down by a small ledge he had to climb. At the top he paused long enough to thank the goddesses for his newfound upper body strength. Being stuck with the stubby arms of a kid again would have been less than ideal. Then he was off again, racing toward the arch of sunlight that promised freedom.

     He breached the confines of the shrine and just kept going. His eyes adjusted to the bright noonday sun, his muscles warmed pleasantly with exertion and his lungs filled with crisp air. On all sides he was surrounded by nature.

     Waking up in the artificial surroundings of the shrine, he’d half expected to walk out to a massive tech filled city, despite his more recent memories telling him Hyrule had distanced itself from pretty much all technology. Though it wasn’t like he was complaining, this alternative was much better.

     He stopped at a nearby ledge that offered an inspiring view of the landscape. The same one that’d been etched into his heart many millennia ago.

     Any doubts he may have had, that this was indeed Hyrule, were completely erased. There on the horizon, the unmistakable visage of Death Mountain, a proud monument that blotted out the sun with volcanic ash by day and glowed with molten lava by night. And in its shadow, the silhouette of none other than Hyrule Castle. Both right where he’d left them.

     Standing between him and those landmarks, the sprawling countryside. Rolling hills and waving grasslands. Hyrule Field, seemingly as untouched by time as he was. And even closer than that, a sprinkling of woodland. All wild and untamed, begging to be explored. Mysteries to be found, treasures to uncover, secrets to reveal.

     His heart soared at the mere prospect. This is what his spirit was crafted for. Pure discovery. The simple joy in finding an unopened chest.

     If you distilled him down to his basic elements, he wouldn’t be “Link the Hero.” No, he’d be “Link the Adventurer.”

     He would have set off right then and there -bounded right of the cliff, consequences be damned- if it weren’t for the overpowering feeling of being watched. He knew the feeling. Not _just_ being watched but observed with a purpose. Several occasions being the target of assassins had trained him to remain on guard at times like this.

     He turned to the right where he felt the watcher to be, swiveling his whole body to plant his stance into a more defensive, hopefully aggressive, position.

     He nearly missed the man entirely, the building standing in the distance behind him drawing all of Link’s attention. It was a familiar sight and one that brought a multitude of memories to the forefront of his mind. It took considerable conscious effort to ignore it and focus on the possible threat just down the road.

     It was an old man with a hood and a walking stick who was obviously waiting for him. After being spotted, he turned and walked away from Link to a small alcove with a lit campfire burning underneath. He sat himself down and returned his gaze to where Link still stood, clearly waiting to be approached.

     Link weighed the pros and cons, deciding the old man seemed harmless enough and could probably offer some much-needed information. But he still picked up a tree branch on his way down the road, just in case. It wasn’t much, kind of pathetic actually, but it beat fighting with his bare fists.

     As soon as he got near enough to feel the heat coming off the fire the hooded man acknowledged him with a wave.

     He said, “Oho ho! Well met, stranger! It’s rather unusual to see another soul in these parts.”

     “Who are you?” was the only reply Link offered.

     “Me? I’ll spare you my life story. I’m just an old fool who has lived here, alone, for quite some time now. What brings a bright-eyed young man like you to a place like this?”

     Ugh! Small talk. The bane of his existence. He’d foolishly gotten his hopes up at hearing he wouldn’t be subjected to this man’s life story. What a shame, the optimism was nice while it lasted. Well, humoring this geezer wasn’t exactly on his “to-do” list so he decided to cut right to the chase.

     “Where are we?”

     “Answering a question with a question. That’s fair enough,” the old man chuckled under his breath. “I cannot imagine our meeting to be a coincidence… so I shall tell you. This is the Great Plateau. According to legend, this is the birthplace of the entire kingdom of Hyrule.

     “That temple there…” he said. Using his cane, he got up to point toward the building Link had pointedly ignored earlier. He gazed upon it now and let the memories wash over him like rain on spring leaves, jarring on first impact, but harmless enough when gliding off to be absorbed by the roots.

     So many things had happened to him inside that temple. It was the turning point to more than one of his adventures. He had a vague thought that, quite possibly, it wasn’t even the same temple. More than likely it was a recreation. Considering the original would have been older than his very old, extremely ancient soul, then yeah that was probably the case. But this place still had gravity to it. Still held a mystical, otherworldly weight.

     The old man continued, heedless of Link’s internal reverence. “Long ago, it was the site of many sacred ceremonies. Ever since the decline of the kingdom 100 years ago, it has sat abandoned, in a state of decay. Yet another forgotten entity. A mere ghost of its former self…” He fixed Link with a meaningful stare.

     The silence dragged on, he seemed to be waiting for Link to ask a question, and Link just might have obliged him. There was a lot to unpack in what he’d just been told. He really wanted to know more about this “decline.” His intuition told him it had something to do with his reincarnation mission.

     But he also didn’t want to play his hand right away. Asking about one’s general whereabouts was one thing, but being completely ignorant of all recent history was bound to raise more than one red flag, no matter who you’re talking to. The old man may very well turn out to be perfectly harmless, but straight up announcing he was an amnesiac wasn’t exactly something Link would consider a smart move.

     The man seemed to take his silence as a cease-conversation. “I shall be here for some time. Please let me know if I may be of service.” He settled himself back down by the fire.

     Link nodded. He might just take the old man up on that offer. This geezer seemed plenty inclined to talking, if Link waited around then he might just tell him everything he needed to know about this supposed decline without even being prompted.

     Though, Link admitted, nighttime campfires were best for storytelling, so he resolved to come back later. He decided he might as well explore that temple in the meantime. It was bound to have its own story to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I may have gotten a bit carried away with the technical/magical jargon there at the begging. Now I know why technobabble is so overused everywhere, it's just WAY too fun to wright. Just know I made all that up. There's no such thing as "Dinminite stone" and I just threw in some extra meaning into the visual design of the shrine. Let me know if that's something you enjoyed or if it wasn't all that interesting because it's something I'd really like to explore more. 
> 
> Also, yeah, I made Link a Sheikah tech nerd. Because if there's one thing Spirit Tracks did right, it was making Link a sexy engineer! The memories from that life in particular were from the hero referenced in Impa's story later in the game. Which means the "several lifetimes after that one" Link mentions are all completely non-canon. Because really. Even if Ganon is sealed away, do you honestly think Hyrule can keep its shit together for 10,000 years? Yeah me neither. 
> 
> I originally planned for this chapter to be longer, but this seemed like a good breaking point. It was starting to feel like it was dragging on too much. Coming up next, Link's various shenanigans atop the plateau! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and are looking forward to the next one! Thank you so much for reading!


	3. Familiar

     When one sets off for an adventure, there’s a few things they’ll probably learn along the way. Like where to find fresh water, how to barter for the best goods, and to always carry a knife. But the first thing a prospective adventurer will have to come to terms with, is that there will inevitably be distractions along the way.

     Could be any number of things really. Maybe you’ll have to backtrack entirely to get some gear, or provisions, or permissions before you can proceed. Talk to this person, fetch that thing. Side quests with mini objectives. Sometimes you’ll just be forced to sit your ass down and wait for a bit. They all have the same effect though. Lovely, little time sinks that can take up most of your travel time if you’re not careful. Though entirely worth the effort depending on who you ask.

     Therefore, Link -being a seasoned adventurer many times over- wasn’t the least bit surprised when he’d barely made it three steps in the direction of the temple before something managed to draw his attention away.

     To the right of the path, in the middle of a sunken pond and atop a boulderlike island, sat a lonely sword stabbed into a small raised stone. The whole arrangement gave the illusion of it being stuck in a pedestal. An overpoweringly nostalgic image for him.

     He knew it wasn’t  _ that _ sword, or any of the others really, but he moved toward it anyway. After all, he was still walking around with nothing but a broken tree branch for a weapon.

     He came to an outcropping of a ledge overhanging the pond and noticed a perfect circle of lily pads below. He couldn’t help the manic grin that spread across his face. After all, he wasn’t the reigning Zora diving champion for no reason. So what if there weren’t any rupees to grab? Skills like his should be utilized at every single opportunity! He bounced giddily on the balls of his feet a few times before taking the plunge, hitting dead center of the loose lily ring.

     He hadn’t expected the flurry of leaves and smell of springtime to greet him as he surfaced.

     A creature made of wood materialized out of nowhere, its most defining feature being the large leaf-mask that covered the majority of its body, let alone just its face. It hovered in the air using a small, leafy propeller. “Ya-ha-ha! You found me,” it said and flailed excitedly. Then it swiveled to look around in mild confusion. “Huh?”

     It looked down and spotted Link treading water below. “You’re not Hestu!” it accused.

     “‘Fraid not,” Link couldn’t help but laugh.

     The poor thing managed to look dejected despite its lack of a visible face. “But you can… see me?”

     Link nodded. “Yeah. You’re a Korok, right?” Not that he had any doubts. The small wood spirit was identical to the ones from his memories, right down to the soft rattle sound it made as it moved. He only asked because he was surprised to see it so far from its home in the dense forest, seemingly comfortable in the open air. Usually, they were much more shy of the outside world.

     The Korok answered his question with a vigorous nod of his own. “I didn’t know your kind could see the children of the forest!”

     “Eh, call it a personality quirk. I see all kinds of things I shouldn’t,” Link giggled somewhat darkly. He thought he meant spirits and ghosts and other miscellaneous specters, but the cynicism in his own voice seemed to imply more. After all, he’d seen both invisible and visible things he’d immediately wished he could unsee. Though that whole line of thinking was leading him right down into a cursed, corpse filled well, so he abandoned that train of thought altogether.

     The Korok didn’t seem to know how to respond.

     “Well, if you run into Hestu, please return this to him,” it said instead, and dropped a small, pearlescent seed into the palm of Link’s hand. At certain angles it caught the sunlight and flared like a piece of gold. He tucked it away for safekeeping. “Oh, and my friends are hiding in lots of different places too! Don’t be shy about poking your nose into suspicious places!”

     “Thanks!” Link offered a friendly smile. “I’ll definitely do that.” Back to his original side objective, Link swam towards the boulder with the sword and managed to awkwardly scramble to the top of it.

     He nearly turned right around and abandoned the weapon altogether.

     “Useless,” he scolded it like a misbehaving child, even going so far as to lean down to glare at it.

     Rust covered the broadsword from pommel to point leaving the edge so dull it couldn’t have cut through wet paper. The leather grip hung in tattered frays and the blade might have had a fuller at one point in time, but the uneven, corroded surface made it impossible to tell for sure.

     Link wouldn’t want to be caught dead with this thing.

     He remembered one of his weapons instructors telling him, “Disrespecting your blade is a good way to shorten your lifespan.” A sentiment Link completely agreed with. A knight lived and died by the cut of his sword. As such, Link had a dedicated weapons maintenance ideology. Even growing up as a farmer he new to keep his blade sharpened, oiled and rightfully rust free.

     Looking upon this sorry excuse for a sword felt something akin to sacrilege.

     But he also wouldn’t want to be caught without it either. After all, even an abomination like this could fend off an enemy better than a stick. Though, which one he’d look more ridiculous wielding remained up for debate.  

     He tugged it out of the makeshift pedestal -mildly surprised it didn’t just snap off where rusty steel met stone- and gave it a few practice swings. It still had decent balance but felt about as brittle as it looked. If it lasted more than a couple hits Link would have to dub it another of his legendary weapons.

     With that optimistic thought, he decided to hold onto his sorry stick just in case. Reaching for the Sheikah Slate at his hip he found the inventory function, thankfully still operational unlike the runes. He toggled through the options and set it to store the tree branch along with any other melee weapons he picked up.

     The slate hummed to life in his one hand and the branch he grasped in the other began to glow an opaque blue. The same distinctive color of Sheikah technology. Ribbons of light streaked from the stick to the device and the branch melted away into nothingness. ‘Tree branch added,’ said the little notification that popped up on the screen.

     “Well, that’s new,” he said aloud as he noticed the inventory had different subdivisions. The slates he’d used in the past all had a single storage space, meaning everything you put into the inventory would go to the same place.

     Apparently, this one had specialized sections for different types of items. The weapons were divided into melee, bow and shield categories while the other items separated into clothing, materials and cooked dishes. The last category was for things that didn’t fit into any of the others.

     He saw the logic behind it. This way, if there was a critical failure and the subspace became corrupted then only a portion of the items would be lost instead of the entire inventory. A neat solution he admitted with a nod, though not without its own drawbacks. The near infinite storage capacity was now reserved for a single item type, materials in this case, and all others were extremely limited in how much they could carry. The most noticeable being shields, which could only hold four items.

     That could become a problem.

     He rubbed a hand down his face while mulling it over. He might be able to finagle an expansion, but he’d need a pretty steady source of free-flowing magic. Maybe if he found a fairy fountain, then he could probably make it work. In the meantime, he’d just have to make do with what he had.

     Feeling he’d spent quite enough time on this little diversion, he set off once again toward the temple.

     He took a dive off the modest island and swam for the other side of the water, heading for the one path that lead out of the pond that didn’t involve any climbing. He could also see it met up with what looked like a crumbling staircase heading strait for the temple.     

     After taking a few sloshy steps onto dry land he felt another pin of piercing gold creep back into his consciousness. The light voice called softly at first to get his attention.

     “Link… Link… Link. Head to the point marked on the map in your Sheikah Slate.”

     Tilting his head in confusion, Link pulled out the Slate to check his map.

     Sure enough, northeast of his position sat a yellow blinking marker that hadn’t been there before. He shrugged and decided to ignore it for now. The temple loomed in the South, a bit out of the way, but he was practically at the doorstep anyway. A quick stop up the hill wouldn’t hurt.

     He stepped up to the side of the stone staircase. It reached about four meters high where he stood, closer where the uneven surface of the perpendicular hillside arched up into it. It rose with the incline of the hill curved sharply toward the temple sitting above. The architecture reminded him of the towering battlements and cobbled streets of Castletown. There was no mistaking it as anything but Hylian masonry. 

     He tugged himself on top of the stonework and brushed the dust from his sleeves. A dilapidated building immediately grabbed his attention, neatly framed by the staircase twisting around it. It looked decades out of repair. The entire ceiling was missing along with a sizable portion of the remaining walls. Rubble littered what Link could see of the walkway and humble courtyard in front of the structure as well as the stairway he was currently standing on.

     Something seemed off about the derelict scene. Wrong in a nagging way.

     He’d explored many ruins in the past and poked around plenty of abandoned crypts and cities alike. The rubble he remembered was different somehow. He stared at the crumbled stone and pondered why exactly. Feeling it had to be important.

     Looking at the cracked face of a smooth arch, it came to him. The stone wasn’t crumbled so much as crumpled. The edges were still sharp were it wasn’t broken. The intricate carvings in the stone were all perfectly distinguishable and un-faded. Only handfuls of grass and ivy could be seen here and there, suggesting that nature had only taken the first steps toward reclaiming its territory.

     This wasn’t the result of the slow decay of time. Looking closer it became so obvious. Pieces of architecture lay strewn about in an almost traceable path of destruction, like toy blocks in the wake of a toddler’s tantrum.

     Suddenly the breezy silence felt wrong and off-putting. It put Link on guard while he scanned the area for clues to indicate the cause of damage.

     Simply turning to the right gave him all the all the answers he needed.

     About twenty paces up the stairs sat several broken-down guardians, their massive bell-shaped forms half buried in dirt and rubble. Spidery robot legs held frozen in the motion of climbing the incline towards the temple.

     And the temple…

     He could really see it now that he stood practically in its shadow. He was at the perfect angle to get a good look at the demolished walls and broken windows. It stood like a stiff skeleton, gutted and battered with most of its left half missing. Asymmetrical, damaged, and smashed. And surrounded by even more lurking guardians.

     Guardians he’d had a hand in building.

     Link felt numb. Like every function in his body had shut down, leaving him a lifeless husk. He couldn’t move, didn’t try to. He just stood there, rooted in place by his sheer, undiluted incomprehension. He couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing, though the evidence spelled it out damningly clear.  

     But how? When? This shouldn’t be possible! The guardians couldn’t-

     The air echoed with hundreds of silent screams. Link’s kickstarted brain all too willing to supply images of Hyrule’s finest automated weapons tearing through civilians. Pinpoint accurate beams wiping out infrastructure and landscape alike, setting fire to anything that moved.

_      Your fault. Your fault. Your fault,’  _ his own voice took to chanting in his ringing ears. He should have been here, he could have stopped it. He smelled blood in the air, tasted smoke on the wind, felt searing crimson drip from his fingertips. A disgustingly familiar jolt of guilt spiraled through him as his focus came back to the temple.

     The Temple of Time. Once again the centerpiece of desolation. A monument to the biggest of Link’s many failures.

     He tried to block the memory, attempted to choke and burry it, but it came anyway. Castletown overcast by the black shroud of unnatural clouds. Living corpses stalking the ash covered streets. Hyrule Castle torn apart and reconstructed into a bastion of malice. A perfect love letter to his recurring nightmares. And at the center of it all, the untouched sanctuary that was The Temple of Time.

     The temple looked so much worse now than it had during that apocalypse, and that was just an extra twist in the knife wound. Though a nagging part of him tried to reassure himself that he’d seen the place in much worse disrepair.

     He’d seen it reduced to a couple of shabby staircases and broken foundations in a long-forgotten wood. He’d even delved into its depths when it had been infested with swarms of massive flesh-eating spiders.

     That was different though. He hadn’t known what that place symbolized. Harbored no attachment to it then. He’d simply wandered around awestruck at the lingering remains of what seemed an almost otherworldly place. If He’d been able to recognize it then, he would’ve been just as horrified as he was now.

     But he hadn’t remembered anything of his previous lives. He never had. And that thought, on top of everything else, had him spiraling even more off balance.

     He’d never retained memories from previous incarnations, at least not as anything more than vague recognition and feelings of déjà vu. Life before had always started with a clean slate and he would enjoy a tranquil existence. That is, until destiny crept up on him, surprising him every single time.

     So why did he remember now? He hadn’t noticed the discrepancy before, or rather, hadn’t allowed himself time to think about it. He’d just plunged right in headfirst, labeled this an “adventure” and acted like everything was perfectly normal. Actively ignoring the fact that he had an encyclopedia’s worth of knowledge lost to the ages and a complete ignorance of everything he should rightly remember.

     Things were backwards and wrong and frightening. He had no answers and a flooding onslaught of questions. He felt the rising panic threatening to boil to the surface, stealing his breath and causing him to shake. He acted quickly before he could drown in it.

     He threw all the questions into a heavy strongbox at the back of his mind and buried it deep. Decided, you know what, maybe it’d be better to head straight to that marker on his Sheikah Slate after all. Zelda was counting on him; couldn’t dilly-dally now. Things to do, places to be!

     He turned in the merciful opposite direction of the temple and started sprinting. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me, just explaining game mechanics that don't need to be explained.


	4. Aching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, WOW! I’m so sorry for the long wait! I don’t really have an excuse, other than this chapter did NOT want to get written. I must’ve reworked it like six times and I’m still not happy with it! Oh well, let me know what you think. I’ll fix it if I have to. But I really just want to move on to the fun stuff. And by that, I mean more angst, because apparently making Link suffer is my new favorite thing to do.
> 
> On the subject of being late though, I did get held up by the BOTW sequel announcement (OMG who else is excited for that?!?) I spent a lot of time wondering if I should wait for that to come out before continuing with this fic, seeing as how it’s going to involve lots of good Ganon backstory stuffs. Eventually, I said, “screw it!” and decided I’ll just continue with the original ideas I had in mind. I’m sure that game will inspire me in new, exciting ways and I’ll have a fic lined up for that one too. 
> 
> Also… WARNING- Excessive profanities in this chapter. You’ll have to forgive Link. He was a sailor in a past life, so obviously he’s going to swear like one.

     Link may have gotten carried away. Just a little bit… Maybe? Only a teeny tiny smidgen of a touch.

     Really.

     It’s just that sometimes one thing leads to another, which leads to another, and then suddenly- everything’s on fire. It’s not his fault that’s the natural progression of things.

     Though, to say he wasn’t happy with the outcome would be an outright lie. In fact, he was positively giddy at the chance to indulge in some much-needed explosion therapy. And who could blame him? They were practically begging him to light them up with how many red barrels they had scattering about their camp.

     “They” being bokoblins and the camp being the fifth one Link had managed to track down in the last handful of hours. Not that it took much tracking, bokoblins were kind of unsubtle that way. And where you find one, you’re bound to find at least a dozen more. Which is why he found himself picking up his old hobby of monster exterminating.

     He’d encountered the first one while ~~running away~~ heading northeast, and it may have caught him off guard enough to nearly club his teeth in. Dispatching it took more effort than necessary due to his lack of actual weaponry, so the fight ended up looking more like a mauling than anything resembling combat. But what’s new? Monsters don’t exactly fight elegantly.

     He ended up with a decent wooden club, minimal bruises and a few bokoblin teeth he decided to pick up after knocking them out as payback. Victory was short lived, however, as Link found himself sharply dodging the end of a spear. It seemed the noise of battle had alerted nearby monsters to his presence.

     Deciding a long-ranged attack would be best, he hiked the arm holding his legendary rust weapon up over his shoulder, took aim, and put his full body weight into hurling the sword straight into the bokoblin’s face.

     It shattered on impact but got the job done. Link collected the spear as spoils then trotted down the hill to where he saw another bokoblin milling about.

     After taking care of that one he found another. Then another. That monster led him to a rudimentary camp that he systematically cleaned out. He’d picked up a bow somewhere along the way and started sniping bokoblins he spotted from a distance. Following a rising smoke column led him to another camp. One with a tantalizing chest in the center that turned out to hold a chunk of opal.

     He found several more camps to pilfer, tracked down a few Koroks, and got ambushed by a group of chu chus at some point.

     Eventually he found himself at the beginnings of a miniscule gorge on the far side of the forest. The narrowing of the cliff faces on either side created a funnel of sorts that condensed the mild wind into a blustery gale. Stiff, dry grass grew like an auburn carpet leading straight through the gorge to where yet another camp sat. One much bigger than the others.

     A giant skull sat dead center, serving as a shelter for the host of bokoblins there. It looked intimidating despite it being carved from rough stone instead of genuine bone.  A lookout platform with a sentry was planted in front, guarding the one entrance to the camp through the gorge, making sneaking in decidedly impossible.

     And everywhere, _everywhere_ , littered a multitude of red barrels. An absurd number of them really.

     Red barrels, dry grass, and heavy winds. The recipe for a perfect disaster. _Just like mother used to make!_

     Yup, they were asking for it. Twice over when you counted the unattended campfire burning just outside the gorge. Like, seriously. It was sitting literally three feet away from the grass. How were they not burned to a crisp already?

     But Link was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He brandished his secondhand torch like a king would a scepter, then lowered it to the flame as if knighting one of his subjects. After that, it was a small twirl to the parched foliage behind him and he took great pride in twirling the torch about like a wizard casting a spell.

     Instantly, the patch of grass was set ablaze, growing quickly into an infectious inferno sporting meter high spikes of fire thanks to the wind. It set off with purpose, crackling down the gorge like the lit end of a fuse. The cries of panic started as the fire made it halfway to the camp.

     Link climbed partway up the cliff face to get a better view of the ensuing chaos.

     Bokoblins ran in disorganized clusters about the camp, each one upstaging the next in terms of pure stupidity. They bumbled into each other, causing more problems while solving none. One started hurling rocks at the fire as if it were an enemy to attack. Another tried to dowse the flames with a pot of oily soup, but the fatty concoction only served to triple its intensity. Several scrambled at the cliff face in a vain attempt to climb out of the death trap. In designing their camp with a single entrance, they’d effectively cut off their own retreat.

     There was nowhere to run.

     A single bokoblin had enough sense to try and get the red barrels out of the way. It hefted one onto its shoulder and hurried back toward the safety of the skull shaped cavern. Unfortunately, it collided with another panicked bokoblin that knocked the barrel right out of its clutches. The container struck the ground, cracking the top wide open and spilling black powder everywhere. Then the barrel rolled quickly out of reach, leaving a neat black line streaking right into the mouth of the skull cave.

     The chaos evolved into pure pandemonium. A fist fight broke out. There was a bokoblin literally trying to burry its head in the sand. Another stupid soul tried to dash through the flames to make and escape. To its credit, it even managed to make it three fourths of the way through the gorge.

     And the fire marched ever forward to curl itself around the first red barrel.

     Even at his safe distance on the opposite side of the gorge, Link felt the explosion reverberate through his bones. The shaking made him lose grip on the cliff face and he tumbled to his ass in a laughing heap, then scrambled to get upright before he could miss any of the action. The initial burst had sent a smattering of burning debris everywhere, igniting a chain reaction through the entire camp.

     Gargled screaming was drowned out by relentless booming as more barrels erupted. The crackle of lit powder fizzled through the air and great billows of smoke rose skyward. Hungry fire followed the trail of black powder right through the cave mouth, prompting a massive explosion inside.

     For a moment, the empty eye sockets of the skull were alight with bright crimson. It seemed furiously alive and seeking vengeance. Then thick, black smoke blotted out the color and curled its way out of the cave.

     All that remained was an ominously smoking skull surrounded by smoldering wreckage and rapidly disintegrating… _pieces_.

     So, things may have gotten a bit out of hand, Link would admit that, but damn if it didn’t go off better than an egomaniac’s firework display. He scanned the area for any patches left un-scorched and was satisfied to see that nearly everything had a nice coating of soot. Talk about easy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cleaned out an enemy base with so little effort. Lucky it happened so spectacularly, or it would have been disappointing.

     He took a few tentative steps forward, careful of the still sweltering embers beneath him. The wind continued to rustle past him, kicking up ash and purple dust. He recognized the dust as the same murky fog of defeated monsters. The breeze picked it up and spun it into little flurries at the end of the gorge, and it was only then that Link noticed anything odd about it.

     Why wasn’t it disappearing? Usually monsters vanished in a burst of dark magic that evaporated away almost instantly. This was highly unusual. He wondered if there was something about this group of monsters in particular that caused them to linger, but then he took a closer look at himself.

     Purple dust clung to his clothes and caked his boots. He ran fingers through his hair and the same substance came tumbling free. It had a gritty texture halfway between being powder and sand. He shook his head vigorously to shed the misty remains of his long day of monster hunting. It floated down heavily before being caught by the wind and swept away.

     Very odd. Link pinched the stuff between his thumb and index finger, trying to think if he’d ever seen anything like it before. He squinted at it through the failing light.

     Link’s gaze jerked up. He stood basking in the deep shadow offered by the surrounding cliffs. The sun had begun to sink low, tinting the horizon its first shades of a milky orange. It was getting late. He returned his attention to the still burning camp and decided he might as well abandon it. After what just happened, he doubted there’d be anything left to salvage.

     He brushed his hands together in a ‘job well done’ gesture, but his eyes held none of the confidence. He turned to make his way back toward the forest at a slow pace. There was a slouch in his spine. He worried his bottom lip as his eyes threaded their way back up to the sky. He looked away sharply and wrung his hands, only for his gaze to wander back up again. He huffed angrily and fixed his attention to the patch of ground directly in front of him and started stomping forward.

     His aggressive march was cut short by the abrupt line between shade and sunlight. A river of dying light ran through the open field separating the rising cliffs and sleepy forest. He stood on the darkened edge like the last rotten plank of a long-abandoned fence, glaring at the border. His fists clenched and unclenched. He shifted weight from one leg to the other.

     “Damn it all,” Link said.

     He strode forward into the throes of twilight with pointed disinterest. Dry grass crunched under his boots. The weather was rather nice today. He started walking a little faster. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, though the wind had died down away from the cliffs. It might even get a little chilly after nightfall. He walked faster. 

     The sunset really was beautiful, wasn’t it?

     He started running.

     Head down and shoulders up, he made a mad dash for the tree line. He looked down. Down, down, down. So far down his face was shielded by the blessed shade of his bangs. Of course, that made tripping on the uneven ground pretty much guaranteed. He lost his balance and tumbled to catch himself on hands and knees, immediately clawing up roots and earth alike in a frantic flail to get upright again. On his feet, he sprinted forward just as recklessly.

     Scarce meters remained between him and the shelter of forest, but it stretched out like miles in front of him. He couldn’t breathe in this fading light. It pooled around him, seeping into his pores, weighing him down… breaking his spirit.

     Crossing into shadow was like being welcomed into sanctuary. He nearly ran headlong into a tree trunk but managed to catch himself on it instead to slow his momentum. He leaned into the bark and panted heavily, though not from exertion. Pinching his eyes closed, he clutched at the empty feeling in his chest.

     “Damn,” Link breathed. “Fuck.” He slid down the trunk to wrap himself into a tight ball among the roots. “Fuck these memories.”

     Why? Why did he have to feel this way? It was centuries ago. Millennia even. It shouldn’t still hurt this bad. He wanted to forget. Wanted to cast off every memory he had and plunge back into the sweet embrace of oblivion. Carve out everything inside him until he was nothing more than a husk of emptiness. Because anything, _anything_ , would be better than this pain.

_-Tell me…-_ A poignant memory floated to the forefront of his mind. _-Do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?-_

_Yes. Always,_ Link thought. A present interjection into a past conversation.

_-They say it’s the only time when our world intersects with theirs…-_

_Hers,_ He corrected.

_-The only time we can feel the lingering regrets of spirits who have left our world. That is why loneliness always pervades the hour of twilight.-_

     Loneliness. That ever-present feeling of being left behind. Of never getting a proper goodbye. Of being abandoned.

     Watching the sun sink to the horizon had brought it all rushing back. It always did, because it reminded Link of Midna. It was the only time her realm skirted the outsides of his. When their skies were tinted the same color and he felt he could almost reach out and touch her. She felt _so close_ but inevitably, completely out of reach. Forever.

     He blamed her for leaving. Did that make him a horrible person?

     She needed to leave, he understood that. She had her people to return to and a kingdom to piece back together. Of course he didn’t blame her for that. But she didn’t have to sever all ties like that. To shatter the one link binding their worlds together and to do it like a thief in the night. Without warning. Without telling him the goodbye they shared would be the last.

     Because there’s a _big_ difference between “See you later” and “Goodbye forever.”

     And she thought she was doing him a favor. It was written all over that sad, little smile of hers. Perhaps she was, he wasn’t actually stupid enough to think otherwise. Break the connection that allowed twilight to contaminate their world and prevent history from repeating itself; protect his realm as well as hers. That was the idea.

     But… didn’t he deserve to at least voice his opinion? Hadn’t he earned that after everything they’d been through together? After placing every ounce of his trust in her hands and getting all her faith in return? He was the Hero of Twilight; shouldn’t he get a say in the matter? They were a team.

     But no, she’d left him, and all he could do was sit and watch the sunset. All he had left was the echoey, loneliness of twilight ripping him apart with empty memories every nightfall. A lifetime of being steeped in sadness, day after day, hadn’t mended the pain, so of course it wouldn’t just magically be better now.

     No. Now it was a million times worse.

     Because instead of a flood of memories, it came at him in a massive torrent. No longer was this a reminder of a single, heartbreaking loss. Suddenly, it symbolized a rippling pattern. An echo that repeated down the ages.

     Like that damned setting sun, they left as if they had no choice. Nearly every one of his companions had abandoned him when his journeys came to a close. He was inevitably left in the dark swaths of midnight -so utterly alone- until night crept by to morning. The dawn of a new beginning. A new life where everything started over again and destiny queued him up for the unavoidable curtain call of sunset at the end. It was a vicious cycle he had no choice but to participate in.

     It hurt.

     Taking it in pieces he’d understood why they had to go -even came to terms with it most of the time- but having it all lined up like this, having complete knowledge that it was the norm and not the exception… Well, how else was he supposed to interpret it, other than they left because he’d lived out his usefulness? That he didn’t really matter to anyone beyond his role as the goddesses’ tool.  

     He felt sick, had to choke back the bitter taste of anger in his mouth. He didn’t want to feel this way. Hated looking back the people he treasured most and being stung by betrayal.

     And the worst part had to be he knew it wasn’t true. But it _felt_ true. He didn’t like to think back on Navi and wonder if she’d abandoned him without a word because she simply didn’t care. It hurt to think that maybe Ezlo wouldn’t have stayed on this side of the Hundred Year Door even if he’d had the option to. That Fi thought he was better off as a treasured memory, or as she phrased it, ‘precocious data.’

     He _knew_ it wasn’t like that, they wouldn’t do that to him, so he shouldn’t feel this way. He didn’t _want_ to feel this way.

     But he did.

     Because, their good intentions aside, the fact remained that he was still conspicuously alone. And right now, it felt like a literal weight inside his chest. Physically painful. 

     Damn these memories. How could being full, practically overflowing with them, leave him feeling emptier than ever before?

     Link growled -actually, literally growled- and shoved himself to his feet. Okay, that was enough! He was so fucking done with this. He’d already lost his composure once today and there’s a limit to how much he was willing to put up with himself.

     He stormed deeper into the forest, took out an axe that looked about three sizes too big for him, and started hacking mercilessly at the hardened oak trees surrounding him.

>-<>-<>-<>-<>-<

     It was hours later, surrounded by piles of fresh timber and a massive smoking bonfire, that Link finally relaxed enough to sit down. The disappearance of the sun had allowed his breathing to return to normal. He felt drained, almost rickety with subtle shaking, and hollow like a reed.

     Falling asleep was out of the question though. Even if the long day had turned into a longer night and his eyelids were drooping like he hadn’t rested in a decade, the absolute last thing he wanted was to lose consciousness. He knew what waited there. There was no rest in dreams, not for him. It was just one more thing he didn’t want to deal with. So he slumped against a crooked boulder for a makeshift backrest and pulled out his Sheikah slate.

     He didn’t really think about the consequences, he just didn’t care. Couldn’t imagine caring less, actually. So, he left all moral ambiguity by the wayside and started the somewhat complicated process of jailbreaking the device in his hands.

     It took some fiddling, then some tinkering, and quite possibly some hair pulling. Say what you want about Sheikah technology’s clunkiness, but there’s no denying it had some serious security measures. It probably didn’t help that his knowledge base was so obviously outdated either. Sure, it was to be expected -progress didn’t just halt because he was dead- but he couldn’t help being just a bit sour about it. It made him feel so old.

     It took a significant amount of time just trying to access the systems hidden behind a series of locks. He dusted off those old-forgotten mathematics skills to crack the codes, working through them by scratching out formulae in the dirt while muttering aloud and chewing on his fingernail. It was nice. Refreshing even. Nobody ever really celebrated him for his brains -he was the wielder of courage, after all, not wisdom- which was a shame because his favorite things were puzzles, riddles and arithmetic. Just goes to show, people saw what they wanted to, not necessarily the full picture. Even when he’d made significant advancements in any given field, he was always remembered as the sword wielding, hack-and-slashy hero.

     The problems were difficult, but he muscled through them (logic-ed through them?) or, if he hit an impasse, used a few tricks that he might have picked up from less than reputable sources. Really, the security features never stood a chance, he had the thing jailbroken within the hour.

     And with that, all security measures and restrictions removed, it was simple enough to unearth _that_ ancient rune from where it lived like a ghost in the system’s makeup. He may have broken a sweat there, but all things considered, the process had been so easy it almost made him uncomfortable. Almost. He had the distinct thought that committing treason should definitely take way more effort than this, or at the very least, more time.

     Link activated the rune, calling up memories of a ranch run by two sisters, a bovine mask, and a dimly lit bar (and a few flashes of surreal aliens slipped in by mistake.) With a shimmer of light, a metal chest plonked into being in front of him accompanied by several bottles of milk, a few bundles of arrows, and a single bottle of Chateau Romani.

     “Score!” Link shouted and dove for the bottle with its rich burgundy label. He was surprised to meet success on his first try. The way the rune worked was more or less random with what it summoned, so getting something specific usually ended up being more trouble than it was worth, especially since the cooldown for trying the same summon again was so unpredictable. Sometimes you only had to wait a few minutes, others it would take full days before you could try to use the same memories again.  Getting a bottle of the rare vintage milk at all had been inexplicably lucky.

     Link considered the rune as he packed everything up and stored it in his inventory. It didn’t seem like much. A couple of jars of milk and a few arrows. He kicked open the chest to find a cheap wooden bow inside. Hardly extravagant. Kinda hard to believe that _this_ was the broken linchpin that had driven a world power to its knees.

     Again, he felt almost uncomfortable. Or rather, he had the feeling that he _should_ be feeling uncomfortable. After all, simply possessing this rune, functional or not, would have been a one-way ticket to the executioner’s block, once upon a time. It was something you didn’t even talk about in public. If you were smart, you didn’t talk about it in private either. Bad things happened to people involved with this rune, and no one had any illusions about that being a coincidence.

     Yet, even knowing all that, all Link felt was satisfaction. He _wanted_ to do something illegal. Wanted to take it way too far- like that bokoblin camp he’d massacred earlier. He wanted to obliterate something and leave it broken and shattered, then revel in how easy it had been.

     So he used the rune again and again with reckless abandon. Summoned all kinds of things from the turbulence of memories inside his head, whooping and cooing at the items that popped into existence like this was some kind of game.

     Plenty of food materialized. Mushrooms, fish, apples, berries, meats. Even some grains and exotic voltfruits made an appearance. All of it greedily packed away into his inventory. The weapons had to be sorted through more selectively, though, considering the limited inventory slots available. Only the best equipment got to keep its coveted space, leaving a large selection of shield, bow, and melee rejects scattered about. Link stacked it all up on the piles of unused timber until it resembled the trash heap he’d called home several lifetimes ago.

     He didn’t stop, even after every slot in his weapons inventory was filled and he had enough food to last two weeks without rationing. He just kept going, summon after summon, till eventually he stopped pausing to rifle through the spoils altogether. Before one round of summons had hit the ground, he was desperately trying to activate the rune again by mashing the onscreen icon constantly. Perfectly good vegetables and produce joined the growing mounds of rubbish in front of him. And still he didn’t let up.

     He plucked the memories out at random to use in tandem with the rune, igniting a reaction like a struck match. He wished using them this way would exhaust them. Imagined the match burned all the way to the fingers, rendering it useless forever. But no, they stayed ever-present and unaffected in his mind, like a slightly bitter aftertaste that he washed away with yet more memories.

     He probably could have gone on like that for days without ever having to recycle -the endless well in his head always providing more images, more places, more paraphernalia- but having his thoughts wander, unorganized like that, just let what he’d been trying so hard to drown bubble right back up to the surface again.

     Midna. He wished he could see her again. His thoughts turned to flaming hair, saturated shadows, cheeky laughs and blanketing twilight.

     And the finger that had been absentmindedly hammering away at the slate struck home once more to activate the rune.  

     The sound nearly stopped Link’s heart.

     Like a wind instrument playing random discordant notes. A tune broken into pieces, rearranged, then played backwards. It came together as a surge, the sound the air might make if it could swell like the ocean.

     He’d know that sound anywhere; had heard it in only one context. Unconsciously, his eyes shifted to the sky searching for a portal that couldn’t be there. The squares were there though, perhaps not coming from the sky but drifting down in a familiar way. Neat, black cutouts of shadow converged to one point, coalescing into a blotchy figure crouched close to the ground.  

     Link was grateful for the shock that froze all ongoing thought processes, wiping his mind clean before the hope could grip him. Because it was obvious this wasn’t who he wanted to see. Even as a half-formed blob of darkness, it was too large, too bulky, to be her.

     Then the shadow form solidified. Color and texture emerged as dark, coarse fur with white highlights. Features materialized. Powerful paws and lithe legs. An array of fangs concealed in an elongated snout. The proud beast stepped forward and raised its head in a chilling howl. A broken chain and shackle jangled on its left foreleg and blue earrings glinted at its ears.

     The wolf, stolen straight from his memories, lowered its gaze and Link met his own fierce blue eyes staring back at him there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And voila! To those of you who thought that amiibo summoning was totally immersion breaking, I present the completely in-universe reason to why it makes absolute sense! And as for the Switch T-shirt… yeah, I have no clue. Immersion broken! There’s only so much I can do. 
> 
> I may have gotten a little sidetracked… I spent like a month coming up with a whole backstory for the memory/amiibo rune, which will probably end up being a whole standalone spin-off fic starring Sheikah Tech Nerd Link™. It took ALL my restraint to not just prance off and start writing that fic instead. #TheStruggle 
> 
> Oh yeah, that lovely explosion party? It doesn’t go off nearly as well if you try it in-game. Pretty disappointing in fact. This was basically my way of saying, “this is totally what SHOULD have happened, Nintendo!”
> 
> *Fun fact, my first draft of this chapter had Link getting drunk off his ass and hallucinating*


End file.
